Words Words Words
Words are miracles with great power.
Stringing the right ones together can
be constructive.
Using the wrong ones can be
destructive.
Words uttered in anger when heard
are like the winds of a hurricane,
Shattering and destroying,
useless to retract or recall,
leaving confusion and pain.
Damage done, efforts all in vain,
Oh, what a crying shame.
Words are comforting and can change
tears and sadness into smiles
and laughter,
When spoken softly and sweetly to a crying child,
a lonely person, or a lover, they leave happy feelings long after.
Words, be they easy or hard,
long or short, choose them carefully,
be precise, considerate, and respectful,
but never ambiguous.
Word, Words, Words,
use them wisely to avoid that dreadful thing
called blame.
by Zyrool
Copyright © Zyrool Gifford | Year Posted 2024
Mental illness is less a character flaw and more a testament to character.
Disability is less a defect and more a mark of courage.
Poverty is less a sign of laziness and more a sign that justice still eludes us.
Homosexuality is less the mark of satan and more the sign of God's love for diversity.
Childbirth is less a sign of female punishment and more a sign of female divinity.
Religious diversity is a less a sign of demonic confusion and more a sign that God's too big for one religion.
And the Bible is less a book about judgment and more a book about love.
Copyright © Woodrow Lucas | Year Posted 2018
Despite the large orange flowering flame tree
That shaded my veranda, the summer heat was intense.
No amount of ice-cold beer could quench my thirst.
A stone throw away was my lovely verdant wood.
It lured me towards a more shadowy place.
Iridescent hues filtered through high branches
Of dark oak trees and stately ashes.
I trod the path, dotted with dubious luminous toadstools.
Distracted I mistook my normal path.
A large hawthorn hedge seemed to block my way,
Till I found an opening, a dreamlike scenario.
There a rivulet twisted its way among the trees
Growing fast till it became a pool in front of a dark deep cave.
Blossoms evanescence fragrance of the wood supplanted
The scent of flowing waters adorned with lotus flowers.
Distant vibrant music echoed with euphonic refrains.
Dancing above the hazy pool was a sight never to be forgotten.
She was beauty in perfection, a palpable poetic water sprite.
Spying me on the bank, she beckoned me to join her.
Who could resist such a soft embrace as we danced
Above the lotus covered pool while meadowlarks
Accompanied us with their warbling tunes?
My heart was filled with radiant love,
Ethereal whispers warmed my yearning heart.
Her luscious lips suddenly brushed mine.
Her loving embrace charmed me into surreal ecstasy
Her alluring eyes sent loving messages
As somehow, I felt the pull of the upper skies,
A feeling of unforgettable emotional attainment
Riding the woolly cooling clouds.
I woke from my trancelike riddle
As I found myself back on my veranda.
I had to find her again, but the sun was setting.
I resigned myself to fate. Was all I saw unreal and imaginary?
I desperately longed for a new morn and a new encounter.
24 May 2021
Writing Prompt - Dreamlike - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2021
I somehow made friends with my enemy,
the one who always pestered me,
feverishly competing for my sweet honey,
I would never give in for love nor money.
He buzzed around my head one day,
asking if there he could rest away,
he promised to watch me as I indulged,
soon my bear belly began to bulge.
I'm now good friends with the bee,
my fondness for honey was because of he,
I would never let our friendship spoil,
So there was no reason for us to quarrel.
I then admitted to that annoying bee,
That without him I couldn't have sweet honey,
So now he always rests upon my head,
I'm stung with sweet friendship while I'm fed.
Vickie Thayer
Copyright © Vickie Hurtt - Thayer | Year Posted 2017
Quiet little redhead
blue eyes twinkling hope
shoved and pushed around
surviving just to cope
She wants so much to join
to play and laugh and sing
but she is never chosen
to be included in the ring
The girls all laugh and snicker
the boys pull at her braids
she feels humiliated
their cruelty she evades
Sadness brims, o’er flows her eyes
in her shell she does confine
all the hurt as she's shoved around
until she's last in line
Copyright © Trudy Diane Rider | Year Posted 2008
You control my mind,
and you own my thoughts.
I want you in my life,
no matter the cost.
Because I miss you girl,
every second, every minute, every hour, every day.
If I give you my heart,
will you just give it away?
Or would you keep it safe,
until the end of time?
Because it would mean so much to me,
if I could call you mine.
Mrs. oh so beautiful,
in all of every way.
The greatest gift or maybe just the biggest mistake,
that I am more than willing to make.
That I am dying to have.
To live and die with a woman like you by my side,
would be the biggest blessing in my whole life.
Copyright © Tony Brady | Year Posted 2017
To the mind that's choked as a stagnant pool
With algae covering Its simplest thought.
Departed is the recall of this magnificent tool
Absent is the passion for life once sought.
Deadpan eyes meet those ensconced with pain
Seeking much patience and understanding.
From the life that was, let the memories remain
Sometimes life seems cruel and demanding.
Copyright © Tom Wright | Year Posted 2008
I’m not certain when it happens.
When the high fidelity stereo of a youthful past
Drowns in the monophonic static of tomorrow’s responsibilities.
When cowboys and indians or cops and robbers
Become traffic tickets and the politically correct, Native Americans.
When the king of the castle ends up under a mortgage and tax escrow
Owned by bank and government alike for standing strong on a playground boulder.
When the real fear of catching cooties from the girls at recess
Gives way to the real fear of catching cooties from girls in your bedroom.
But it invariably does.
You wake up and notice something interesting about mirrors.
Your reflection isn’t there anymore.
That person doesn’t know that fruity pebbles taste better than bran flakes.
That pens and pencils are made for drawing, not writing checks.
And crayons are better still.
That person has forgotten that mornings are to be celebrated
And bedtime is another way of spelling tantrum time.
That person is a grown up.
And certainly, that person isn’t you.
Are they?
04/24/15
Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2015
MY ANGEL HERE ON EARTH
I was lost now I’m found
You have turned my world around
I was standing in the dark
Now I’m in bright sunshine
I’m so glad that you’re mine
You’re my angel here on earth
I don’t know if I deserve
The things you say and everything you do
I love you my angel here on earth
I don’t know who sent you to me
I just know you see right through me
Who I am and who I want to be,
Your love has set me free
You make me feel complete
With your wings on earth you landed
This how the heavens planned it
You and are meant to be
Please stay down here with me
This is our destiny.
Copyright © Sandra Doolan | Year Posted 2021
God of changing changelessness.
God of endless surprises,
confounding the confoundless.
You are the God of Paradox,
revealing to children, that,
which you hide from the learned.
Those mortals you touch,
utterly transformed, Divinely
refereeing matches between
angelic wrestlers and mere mortals,
Jacob becoming the limping Israel,
Moses’ staff raining down plague,
terrorizing those who terrorized,
the vanquished becoming vanquishers.
The angel adorned ark, the
secret weapon of your Covenant,
the enslaved now the rulers.
Shepherd royalty, blossoming deserts,
lions at peace with the lambs,
children playing with cobras,
Angelic announcements
a Virgin conception of the
God/Human who serves
but refuses to be served,
creation murdering the Creator,
the Dead not remaining dead.
Divinely bestowed paradox,
abundantly planted in history,
who am I to question You
about a broken left ankle
on the Eve of my retirement?
(c) 2019, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.
Copyright © Robert Wagner | Year Posted 2020
When We Turns Into Me
Robert E. Welch, Sr.
December 14, 2017
Through the years we’ve had our troubles
And it never seemed to go just right.
We always tried to make it work.
But all we ever did was fight.
You took the kids and left me here
Brokenhearted and alone.
Wishing there was just one way
Just one way to save our home.
All alone in this big house
Emptiness is all I see.
Now I know how lonely feels
It’s when we turns into me.
It’s when we turns into me,
That what cuts right thru the heart.
The pain will never go away,
It’s always here to stay,
It’s when we turns into me.
Copyright © Robert Welch | Year Posted 2017
I am as I’ve always been,
born of stars, of dust, of flame.
The light that lingers in the dark
knows me by my truest name.
No wound can steal the love I hold,
no pain will take my spirit’s grace.
I stand in every storm I meet,
woven through all time and place.
The body bends, the bones may break,
yet what I am will never fade—
a sky without an edge or end,
a breath the stars themselves have made.
In each step, I am reborn,
in every fall, I rise anew.
No tarnish marks this mortal soul;
I am the light, whole and true
Copyright © Ramon Riveraalmena | Year Posted 2024
How do I tell you that you’re beautiful?
How can I be different?
How can I express my attraction?
When columns upon
Columns
Of testosterone filled wolves
Dressed in rented Italian suits
And discolored, mesh sneakers
Speak similar flirtatious dialect
Will this baby scented Sunflower do the trick?
I picked it from my walled Garden of Eden.
I spent 4 years mending these butterfly coated petals,
Solely for this moment
How can I express my need for your smile?
When tattered paper donations have been sent
To elicit short-term, newlywed goose bumps upon your flesh
...
May I have this dance?
You’ve never heard this sensual ballad.
But, it’s an element of my Spoken Word
Waiting for your translation
I await your palms,
Because this is not a Man’s world
This can be ours.
But, will you leap off from trampoline’s corazon?
My syllables are in your hands.
My book is within your misunderstood palm paths.
But,
If you’re going to read between my lines,
Do not be illiterate to my heartbeats.
Your move…
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Poet Tacito | Year Posted 2013
From, Hymns of My War
Unpublished collection
“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Thomson,
In this casket is most of your son.
We strongly recommend cremation.
The rest remains missing in action,
With the thanks of a grateful nation.”
Graves registration records them, “Members Missing”;
Limbs now of a foreign flora? Will the Resurrecting
Repatriate them from the Sao Den and Cu Chi trees,
Or the killing fields endlessly cycle their lees?
No, no more mustering to the drums, as names
In limestones will report for their remains -
Until the last of memories unwrites any claim
By they who sent them to mindlessly proclaim,
“Thank you for your service”
Copyright Paul Thomson 2019
Copyright © Paul Thomson | Year Posted 2021
When it came time
for Mitt to do his bit.
Off to France
he did flit.
Copyright © Paul Flynn | Year Posted 2024
Ants, Ants, Ants,,, For Me
Ants, Ants, Everywhere
The rains come down
They come up stairs
Ants, Ants, Ants, Everywhere
The kitchens full of them
The cupboards now bare
Ants, Ants, Ants, Ants, Everywhere
The traps are out
Round them they dance, they don’t care
Ants, Ants, Ants, Ants, Ants, Everywhere
They’re up my legs,
They’re up my arms, they’re in my hair
Ants, Ants, Ants, Ant, Ants, Ants, Everywhere
They’re on the move,
They’re coming for me, they’re coming for you,
Ants, Ants, Ants, Ants, Ants, Ants, Ants,
Everywhere, Everywhere,
EVERYWHERE!
NoelsArt
Comments: A sequel to my 1st Ants poem. I got this 50’s horror movie stuck in my head. Ants are bugging me! FEEDBACK WELCOME.
Copyright © Noel Flater | Year Posted 2019
THREE year olds know about circles. They play
ring around the rosy and here we go round
the mulberry bush. And if one should say
that in reality nowhere is found
a perfect circle, they either don’t hear
or won’t buy it. Yet. Another year
or so they’ll eat the awful truth and then
conventional wisdom will slip right in
to its proper place and babyish why
will give way to unexamined lives. Sin
preached from pulpits at preschool shrouds PI.
POINT to the red stop circle. Here’s the way
to walk safely: keep one foot on the ground
at all times. Slowly and steadily. Stay
between the lines and never let the sound
of critical thinking distract your ear
from the sound of my voice. I love you, dear.
Trust me to tell you what you need know when
you need to know it. I tell you, I’ve been
granted credentials. Listen to me, I
pledge allegiances, comfort and even
wealth. Conformity’s requirements stifle PI.
ONE damp March morn, buzzards circled the gray
expanse of four-laned wasteland where a hound
dog had foolishly chased a dove away
from any sign of obedience. Mound
after mound of petrified organs. Clear
chords rang out. But the harsh grind of the gear
of market driven semis hauling men
and their pimp wares of lies told by vermin
with disposable fantasies rolled by
and outscreamed the prelude of peace. The end
justifies. Wall Street domesticates PI.
FOUR the fourth time, circle in ink to play
lucky numbers. Fortune cookies abound
with their scratch off oracles of big pay
and tight buns and white cuspids. Wrap-around
leather skirts lust for more time and sincere
pleas for help get downsized. Year after year,
oblivious to the tipping of win
or lose scales to the right and left to grin
and bear it. Occasional urge to cry
‘til imbalance seems natural. If your skin
crawls take medicine. Addictions cloud PI.
ONE nation under God circles to sway
one lord one faith one baptism? Joshua downed
Jericho and Truman blessed Enola Gay
to drop her horrid load Does it astound
anyone anymore? Or has the fear
of death obscured sacred tidings of cheer
and replaced them with slick prayers to low men
in high places? Hallelujahs in thin
screechy voices. Who will dare to ask why?
Blind patriotism and religion
unsupported by spirit torture PI.
AND SO ON TO INFINITY. Again
and again and again. There’s never been
an end or even a pattern. We fly
around in circles, unaware. But when
we wake, we will come face to face with PI.
~~~~~~~~~~
the capitalized first words in each stanza when taken together are pi
Copyright © Nancy Jones | Year Posted 2006
Miranda
Witty, wife, sister, mother
Sister of Cindy
Lover of freedom, grace, and hugs.
Who feels close to God, much love from my husband and the need to help
Who fears car crashes, dogs and my last daughter at home leaving.
Who would like to see, the country from a cab of an 18 wheeler, island sunset and plays on the stage.
Resident of Buchanan MI
Hawley
Copyright © Miranda Hawley | Year Posted 2018
On the heels of autumn’s flight
Nature draped in winter’s white
The dreariness of brown and grey
Belie the colors found in May
Frosty winds howl through the trees
Made barren by December’s freeze
Though January’s colder still
And February spreads the chill
All life, it seems, is in retreat
The silence echoing defeat
As arctic air does plunder forth
From icy strongholds in the north
But all great kingdoms start to wane
As other ones begin their reign
And winter, though a ruthless king
Must one day soon give way to spring
Copyright © Michael Wise | Year Posted 2018
Summer a time for swimming
I love what warm weather brings!
Picnics in summer too,
I love to go on them with you!
9oclock and barely dark
oooh and those amusement parks!
Summer a wild storm,
the park has barely opened!
Keep the skys blue and clear
so we can get on that roller coaster!!
Summer a time for swimming
enjoy everything the season brings
Copyright © Melani Udaeta | Year Posted 2007